Here, There Be Dragons
PrologueIt was a very distinct sound, the quiet scraping of steel on stone, that first told him that his visitors had arrived, followed by a strange sort of tapping and the shuffling of feet.
The tapping outside in the alleyway became more pronounced, and he suddenly realized it was less the sound of tapping than it was a soft cacophony of claws, snapping together in anticipation. He set aside his pen and notebook and settled back in his chair. There was no denying it. It was time.
The strained amber light of an English afternoon streamed through the greasy windows of the door as it slowly opened into the study. He refilled his pipe with his special cinnamon tobacco mix and noted with passing interest that clouds were beginning to gather on the far horizon.
A storm was coming.
It didn't matter, he thought to himself with some satisfaction. He had said the things he needed to say to the person who needed to hear them. He had protected that precious stewardship that needed protecting, and passed it to those who would use it wisely and well.
There was, he concluded, not much more that could be asked of an old scholar, in t ... read full excerpt from Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographic #1: Here, There Be Dragons ebook
